Why Cressida Turned Rebel
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Cressida's entire attitude toward the Games and the Capitol changes once she discovers a Tribute as a real person instead of an image on a screen.
1. In the Midst of Things

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with HUNGER GAMES. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

**Chapter 1 In the Midst of Things**

Andie looked over the cliff, at the rocks nearly 50 meters below. She was from the flat plains of District 10, and the sight was both alien and frightening. The only experience that gave her comparable vertigo was when she was first learning to ride a horse and was afraid of falling off, and that was on a far smaller scale. But she preferred this tableau to the one behind her.

A few meters away was the boy tribute whom she had killed in self-defense, bashing his head in with a rock. She couldn't remember his name, or even his district. During Training she had been too frazzled to keep track of all the competitors, and she could scarcely have asked his identity when he was trying to kill her. She would probably learn the district when they showed the "Fallen" tonight. She wished the hovercraft would come and take the body away. But maybe he was too close to the rising bulk of the upper mountain for them to risk it.

She had resolved, a few days ago, not to kill in the arena. She would simply hide and avoid battle as long as she could. Unfortunately, the form of this year's arena left few opportunities for concealment. The arena was one huge mountain, with the Cornucopia and pedestals at the summit. She had found a cave to hide in, but she had to leave it to get some water. Travelling down a mountain on a path, with the cliff on one side and the mountain rocks on the other, she had been horribly visible, and he had spotted her. And when he gave her a sharp jab in her left breast during his attack, the pain and sense of violation overrode her resolution. She had rough-housed with other cowboys and –girls in District 10, but there had been unwritten rules in fights there – you avoided hurting the eyes, or genitals, or girls' breasts. Here the Gamesmasters didn't care how much you hurt your opponent. There had been plenty of loose rocks lying around, and she had –

The Games would continue, and for her there were only a few ways it could end. She could win, and have other people's blood on her hands for the rest of her life. She could die, slowly and agonizingly, by starvation or thirst. Or she could get a quicker death by letting another tribute kill her.

There was another alternative, that her escort Cressida had not spelled out. She could end it now. The mountain-style arena would make it easy to die.

Andie got slowly to her feet. Any last thoughts? She meditated on the consolation that she would not have to kill anyone else again, just herself. Then she stepped to the very edge of the cliff and jumped.

A hundred kilometers away, watching the Games, Cressida screamed in shock and grief.


	2. The Grim Reaper

**Chapter 2 The Grim Reaper**

A few weeks before, Cressida was working on the documentary on the previous year's Hunger Games, when the summons came from Plutarch. The message didn't say what he wanted; whether it was good news or bad news. The Hunger Games were so central to Imperial culture that working on them was a two-edged sword: succeeding gave one much prestige, but mucking them up was dangerous. She remembered a few years earlier when the Victor committed suicide a few days after the Games, forcing cancellation of the Victory Tour that year. Snow ordered the Chief Gamesmaster executed, and the side effects of that went down several layers of hierarchy,

Plutarch was smiling when he came to his office. It wasn't always easy to interpret his smiles, but at least it wasn't like a smile from President Snow, which could mean that he was enjoying contemplating your imminent death. "Hello, Cressida. Please sit down."

She did.

"First, have you heard anything about the design of this year's arena?"

"No, I'm working on documenting last year. This year's team is hush-hush, as usual."

"That's good, and I'll explain why. We have a bit of problem, and we hope that you can help us out. The escort for District 10 was found in a stupor this morning, intoxicated with too much morphling. She'll recover, though her disciplinary action won't be very pleasant. The problem is, we can't trust her to handle the reaping. Can you take over the reaping ceremony?"

"I've never been out of the Capitol before." Indeed, she felt rather like a citizen of ancient Rome, setting out on a journey into barbarian lands. The Capitol was civilization. The image of the Chief Gamesmaster executed by an angry Emperor vanished from her mind.

"But you'll be transported exactly where you need to go. You've seen films of numerous reapings; you'll know what to do. Your only other duty will be to teach the tributes the protocols surrounding the Games, which you also know well. And the District 10 mentor will be there to help you."

Cressida hesitated.

"Don't think that you'll be taking a step downward, working as an escort for the current Games. It's not a demotion; you'll be helping us out."

It sounded like she was being politely asked, not ordered to take the assignment. But Plutarch was an enigmatic person; you never knew where you stood with him. Turning him down would probably not be good for her career.

"Very well, I'll do it. I'll just need a few hours to transfer my project to somebody else."

"Fine. Now, let me explain why I asked about the arena. Escorts are never told about the arena details. Too much danger of their telling their tributes, and giving them an extra advantage when the games start."

Cressida knew that, but it had always seemed to her that secrecy about the arena made things unnecessarily complicated. There were thousands of people involved in constructing an arena – Gamesmakers, engineers, construction workers, and finally communications people setting up surveillance everywhere. Each one a possible security risk, which complicated the work. Why not just let the information be general knowledge, and let the tributes be equally warned? But hers was not to reason why—

"I'll be careful not to find out," she promised.

Two days later she was on the train out of the Capitol to District 10. It was less of a psychological strain than she expected. Being on the train was like taking the Capitol civilization with her, as long as she did not look out the window. Indeed, when they were a couple of hours from the destination, she actually unblacked the window and sampled the view.

She was already within District 10. She saw vast plains, with cattle wandering and grazing. The sight made her feel a little queasy. She had never seen live cattle before, just their end product sitting on plates at a meal. She didn't much like the reminder that they were once living things capable of moving about.

She also saw a few figures on horseback, riding around keeping the herd in order. She was familiar with horses; they used them in the Capitol for the tribute parades and other formal occasions. But at the Capitol they always used moved at a slow, dignified pace, and they were programmed to go to specific destinations without guidance. They were even trained not to leave droppings in inconvenient places. But here, even though the train's own swift movement obscured matters, they looked swift and powerful, and under the control of their riders.

"Is that prudent?" Cressida asked the young woman assigned as her guide. The girl was from the Capitol, but she had made this trip several times before and knew some things about the District. If she was upset or pleased at the absence of the usual escort, her expression and manner did not show it.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"A man with a horse can be rather formidable. Is it safe to give locals that much power?"

"Only a few people are granted horses, ma'am, and only if they're quite trustworthy. They consider it a great honor." Her nose wrinkled. "Though sitting on a smelly animal for hours is not my idea of a thrill."

The train came to a stop in the District 10 passenger station. It was a surprising small building; the guide explained that the cargo – tonnes of meat every week – were loaded at a separate station. They walked straight from the train to the car. The station and the car both reflected Capitol-style elegance, yet neither could exclude a stench in the air. "Stockyards" was the one-word explanation from the guide.

The streets were lined by buildings that looked shabby to Cressida's eyes. The Hall of Justice, however, looked suitably majestic, even though the car pulled up to the back door.

Inside they met two of the important personages of District 10 – the mayor, and Taylor Bunyan, who was one of the Districts' victors, and the one chosen as this year's mentor. He was tall and heavyset; Cressida recalled that he had won his Games by sheer brute strength, strangling a Career in his final battle. He did have elegant dress and manners, however, and seemed to consider himself an "honorary" citizen of the Capitol, even though he was only allowed there when he was mentor during the Games. They escorted Cressida to the main doors of the Hall. Cressida found herself on a balcony, facing a huge crowd.

The feeling of facing a District crowd was a surprise to Cressida. She had seen numerous reapings on TV or recordings, but somehow they hadn't prepared her for the reality. She could almost read their predominant emotions – fear, and hostility.

She cleared her throat and gave the traditional greeting. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The crowd just stared. Hastily she introduced the propo film that explained the historical origin of the Games, and pointed to the screen mounted to the left of the Hall. That gave her some relief, partly because the crowd was no longer staring at HER, and because propos were familiar territory. By the end, she had regained some composure.

"And now!" she called dramatically. "Ladies first!"

She walked to the huge bowl on the left side of the balcony, and explored it with her hand, careful not to look at the contents. It was bad form to pick a paper right from the top, so she rummaged a bit before pulling out a single paper. Unrolling it, she called out the name: "Andromeda Cass!"

There was a rippling motion in the female side of the crowd; eventually it became clear that the girls were moving away from the Chosen One, as if she were contaminated. She could see a girl, maybe 15, in sturdy blouse and pants. She was standing as if stunned. Only when Peacekeepers started toward her did she start walking toward the Hall. She nearly stumbled on the steps.

"Pleased to meet you, Andromeda," said Cressida.

"Hullo," she muttered, turning her head away from the cameras. Cressida was close enough to see why: there were tears in her eyes, and the girl did not want the Imperial audience to see.

To the Capitol, it was a good thing to be reaped for the Games. At the very least, the chosen one had a few weeks of Capitol luxury that she probably never dreamed of. At the best, she could be the victor, enjoying fame and fortune for the rest of her life.

But for the first time in her life, Cressida realized that the Hunger Games meant something different to the denizens of the Districts than they did to her.


	3. Evaluation

Chapter 3 Evaluation

Cressida followed her usual instinct when something went wrong onscreen – point the camera somewhere else. She wasn't literally in control of the camera here, but if she moved the camera would probably follow her. So she walked to the boy's bowl.

Once more she rummaged a bit, before extracting and unfolding a paper. "Sam Sunning".

The reaction was a little different on the boys' side. Instead of their drifting away from the chosen one, she saw some agitation in one of the groups, ending with the boys pushing somebody out of the crowd – presumably Sam.

He glared at the other boys, but as a Peacekeeper approached he sullenly began walking toward the stage. As he got to the top of the stairs, Cressida offered her hand to shake, but he just glared. "Stay away from me, bitch."

Cressida stiffened, startled at the blunt insult. When you insulted somebody in the Capitol, it was preferably done subtly and with irony. Here he had not only uttered a vulgar insult, but had done so before a crowd of thousands, many of whom seemed amused. What was worst, she remembered that reapings were televised and shown all over Panem. She hoped one of her colleagues would edit out the offense before it got transmitted.

Fortunately the Peacekeepers reacted to the aggression. Two of them basically grabbed Sam and escorted him through the doors of the Hall of Justice. A female Peacekeeper took Andromeda's arm and guided her indoors as well. The girl still looked as if she was in shock.

After going through an anteroom, they reached a hallway. Andromeda was taken to the right and Sam to the left.

"Farewells to their loved ones," explained Bunyan. "We're not allowed to intrude. But it gives us time to find out what we've got.

He guided her through a set of well-guarded doors. The Peacekeepers on guard seemed reluctant to left Cressida through, even though she was clearly from the Capitol. But they recognized Bunyan, as one of the few Victors of the district, and he vouched for her.

"Security for the Peacekeeper Computer," he explained to Cressida. "The Peacekeepers need the technology, but they want to keep it out of anybody else's reach in the District, so the computer is physically isolated and has no network connections, not even to the Capitol."

They went through the final door and found themselves in a windowless room. A female Peacekeeper was typing on an old-fashioned keyboard.

"Do you have their dossiers?" asked Bunyan.

"Yes, sir. We looked them up the instance we heard their names," said the woman. She handed them two stacks of printouts – another thing that looked quaint from Cressida's point of view. In the Capitol she would have used an electronic viewer, but she had not been allowed to take one out of the city. Too much danger of them falling into the hands of people in the Districts.

"We can look at them in detail on the train," said Bunyan. "I just want to see whether there are any red flags." He sat and looked through one stack. "Hmmm. It says Sam got in a fight with a fellow hand at the District Ranch, and broke his arm. Sentenced to a whipping, but the Ranch talked the Peacekeepers out of it – said they couldn't afford to have TWO strong workers incapacitated. But they did reassign him to the lowest-level duty – mucking out the barns."

"I don't know that term," said Cressida.

"Do I need to spell it out?" asked Bunyan. "Shovelling s****."

Cressida winced, deciding that Bunyan did not have to spell it out that clearly.

"Winning in a fight might actually be an advantage, in the Games," went on Bunyan. Unfortunately he's not likely to appeal to sponsors, if they see the Reaping tape. Unless there are some sponsors that enjoyed seeing a tribute insult you."

Cressida realized that Bunyan was being subtly condescending, in a sophisticated Capitol sort of way. Dominating the conversation, finding an excuse for a rude word, hinting that some people might like the way Cressida had been insulted. From his point of view he was a Victor who had fought his way into an elite; she was a Capitol featherbrain. To acknowledge it would be embarrassing; to stop it she had to control the conversation more.

"Some people can win without sponsors," said Cressida. "There was Johanna Mason. Acted so frightened and helpless that nobody would sponsor her. But before she could starve, she managed to catch another tribute off guard and kill him, winning his supply of food from the Cornucopia. Ended up winning that year."

That killing was a famous coup de theatre in HUNGER GAMES history. Johanna had stripped naked and allowed one of the Careers to catch sight of her in the woods. One of the Careers saw her and sneaked off from the others, probably more interested in sex than in killing. Once he had put his own supplies to the side and was engaged in taking off his clothes, Johanna had picked a fallen branch off the ground and clubbed him on the head. Being from the lumber district, that was a particularly appropriate weapon for her. The Gamesmasters had had to edit that tape for public concept, because of a rule against showing tributes naked, but the unexpurgated version circled among the media people and Cressida had seen it.

"True. Well, let's see about the girl." He opened the second stack and perused. "Hmm, no red flags. In fact, it says she was awarded a horse of her own as a reward for good work. That's a high honor, in District 10."

"So I've heard."

"Trouble is, it would mean nothing to sponsors in the Capitol. And they will see her, almost crying, on the Reaping tape. That'll be a handicap."

"It's a matter of spin, and I know spin," says Cressida. "Tell you what. You concentrate on marketing the boy, and I'll concentrate on marketing the girl." It seemed a sensible approach, plus it put Bunyan and herself on an equal level.

"Very well."

Cressida had heard, from other escorts, that the tributes were often dazzled by their first sight of Capitol luxury, and that made them more cooperative. She had therefore directed that a dinner be set out in the train, where the Tributes would see it on their first entrance.

"Wow, lookit all that grub!" cried Sam. He rushed to the nearest table and started gobbling it up.

Andromeda followed slowly and looked down at the table dolefully. "How can you think of eating at a time like this?"

"Why not? Eat,drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die. Not to mention other pleasures. Like - OOOW!" 

"Keep your hands off of my butt!"

"Yeah, awright. Unless you ask me in the future – ouch!"

Cressida looked at Bunyan triumphantly. "It looks like the girl CAN defend herself if necessary."

"Yeah, if her adversary makes the mistake of patting her ass."

The train made a jolt, as it started to accelerate down the tracks. Andromeda lost all interest in Sam and rushed to the window. To Cressida, looking out at the view, it was just endless farmland and filthy animals. But to Andromeda, it may be her last sight of home.

TO BE CONTINUED. 


	4. Andromeda's Story

**WHY CRESSIDA TURNED REBEL**

**Chapter 4 Andromeda's Story**

As the last sight of District 10 passed, Andromeda started crying and, clearly embarrassed by her tears, asked where she could be alone. Cressida showed her to her bedroom, and tried to distract her up by pointing out the luxuries. But Andromeda just buried her face in the bedcovers, and Cressida eventually gave up and went out. She found a spot in the video car where she could watch the girl's door and avoid Sam and Bunyan, both of whom got on her nerves. She was pleased to find to find that one of her earlier documentaries on a past Hunger Game was among the recordings available.

After several hours, however, Cressida was getting frustrated by the girl's self-isolation. Her bedroom had its own bathroom, so that she would not have to leave to relieve herself, but surely she would be getting hungry. Would it be proper for an escort to barge in on the girl? She didn't know; she wasn't a real escort but a substitute.

She finally ordered attendants to prepare two trays of food, and knocked on the door. "Andromeda? I've brought you something to eat. And we need to talk."

"Come in if you must," came the answer.

She opened the door. Andromeda was lying on the bed, in the same clothes she wore in the reaping ceremony, staring at the ceiling of the train car. Cressida had the attendants put the trays on the bed and depart.

"Please eat, Andromeda," urged Cressida. She was puzzled; she had heard that people in the Districts were underfed, both in quantity and quality of the food. But the food was tempting the girl. "You have to build up your strength, for the Games."

"What difference does it make? I'm not going to win."

"You CAN win, if we prepare properly. Do you know about sponsors?" Cressida asked.

"Yes. I saw the games where the sponsors sent a trident to Finnick Odair."

"I'm looking for a way for you to impress the sponsors. When I find it, I'll tell Caesar Flickermann, and he'll be sure to bring it up during the interview. But to do all that, I have to know more about you."

Andromeda shrugged, as if dubious that the idea would work. But she did sit up and start picking at her food, and Cressida finally felt free to start on her own meal. "What do you want to know?" the girl asked laconically.

"Everything. For example, why did your parents name you Andromeda?"

"I don't know; maybe they just liked the sound. Does it mean something to you?"

"There's an old story about a girl named Andromeda." Cressida had once studied records of Greek mythology, looking for ideas for future arenas. Plutarch was intrigued by one idea, about wandering in a Labyrinth, but many of the other stories stuck in Cressida's head. "Her parents had offended the gods – "

"Gods?"

"Um, powerful people who lived before the Dark Days. As punishment, the gods ordered the parents to sacrifice Andromeda to a sea monster."

"Did they?"

"Well, they tried. But a hero named Perseus saw her, chained naked to a rock at the seaside, and rescued her."

"Sounds like the Hunger Games. Punishing a girl for something a previous generation did. But I don't think a hero is going to come rescue me, naked or not. More likely to kill me in hopes of winning the Games."

That gave Cressida a start. It hadn't occurred to her that the fairy tale had any contemporary relevance. "It's NOT like the Hunger Games. Andromeda was helpless until Perseus came along. Whereas you have a chance to win, becoming rich and famous."

"I don't think the odds are in my favor."

Cressida tried to get the conversation back on track, asking for a chronological story of her life.

Andromeda was the daughter, an only child, of two workers at the official District Ranch. The parents were killed when she was four, trampled by racing cattle in a phenomenon which Andromeda called a STAMPEDE. She was placed in the "District Home" for a couple of years, but at the age of six was sent to do some chores in the Ranch, starting with feeding the animals.

As she spoke, Andromeda started to get bogged down in the minutia of life at the Home and the Ranch, stuff that would be meaningless to the Capitol. So Cressida changed tactics and asked for the low point and high point of her life so far.

The low point was an incident when she was twelve, and was being trained to herd calves. She and another tried to aim for the same calf. Andromeda was thrown from her horse and fell against a post of the corral, breaking several ribs. But the Ranch considered it a pure accident, thought Andromeda was a potentially valuable cowgirl, and paid for her recuperation in the Ranch's infirmary. Andromeda didn't say what would have happened to her if she had gotten blamed for the accident.

The high point was the incident Bunyan had already read about – the award of her own personal horse. It obviously meant a lot to her, but Cressida knew that it would mean nothing to the Capitol audience, and was starting to get discouraged at this interview. So was Andromeda, for a different reason.

"I thought if I did everything right, I'd be OK. But no, I've been reaped for the Hunger Games. I'm gonna die."

"You're not going to die! Think positive."

Maybe asking her to sum up her life had been a bad idea. Cressida changed the subject. She went around the room, pointing out the luxuries. Changes of clothes. The shower with all the options.

"For the next few days, you'll live in luxury. Not only better than the Districts, but better than most people in the Capitol."

Andromeda looked glum. "I suppose Sam really had the right idea. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we will die.

0-0-0-0

She met Bunyan again in the records room. He was watching some old Hunger Game on the tapes, but did not seem overwhelmingly interested.

"Can I ask a question?" ventured Cressida.

"What is it?"

"Why do the two kids seem so well-fed? Not on luxury food, of course, but they're not hungry either."

He switched off the tape. "Subsistence. You don't feed somebody so little that they can't do their work. But the style of work varies from District to District. The biggest employer in District 10 is the Ranch, and it requires more brute strength than operating a machine in a District 8 factory or picking fruit in District 11. So the food allowance is higher. Brute strength is about the only advantage we have in the Games."

"How did your discussion with Sam go?"

"Basically I convinced them that his skill with fighting may help him win, IF he follows good advice otherwise. I think he'll be cooperative. Surly but cooperative. I think we can spin his aggression as a positive thing in a fight, and maybe even impress some sponsors. What about your girl?"

"She's convinced that she's going to lose. And I still haven't found a spin."

A thought seemed to strike Bunyan. "Her records say that she works at the Ranch and was rewarded for good work there. Does she know how to use a lasso?"

"A what?"

Bunyan rolled up his eyes. "Didn't you learn anything about the District's specialty before coming out here? A lasso is a way of roping something at a distance. If she can lasso an animal, then she can lasso a human being in the games, if she has rope. Particularly if the other tributes knows as little about it as you do."

Cressida ignored his contempt; she was too excited by sudden hope. The power of the emotion made her realize that she wanted Andromeda to be the victor, and not just out of professional pride as her escort. She wanted the girl to survive the Games.

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Preps and Parades

**WHY CRESSIDA TURNED REBEL**

**Chapter 5 Preps and Parades**

Andromeda was asleep when Cressida went to talk to her, and Cressida decided to let her stay that way. The next day, when they were just a few kilometers from the Capitol, she and Bunyan both tackled her. It would be the last time for a private conversation until they got to their rooms at the Training Center that night.

Andromeda confirmed that she knew how to use a lasoo, and gave an exciting description of roping a calf from horseback. But the suggestion that she could lasso another tribute in order to kill him or her shocked her. Bunyan lost his cool at that point.

"These are the Hunger Games. Life or Death. If you have a weapon or technique available that could give you an advantage, you need to use it."

"Or die," finished Andromeda.

"Yes, or die," said Bunyan, satisfied that Andromeda seemed to have absorbed his message of what was at stake. But Cressida heard an undertone in Andromeda's voice and wondered whether the girl meant something else.

That dying might be preferable to some other things.

They pulled through the tunnel and into the Capitol railway station. As Cressida expected, there was a huge crowd of thrill-seekers waiting to see them. Sam looked pleased at the attention he was getting. He didn't know that the crowds showed up to gawk at all the tributes, even the losers from District 12.

Peacekeepers guided them into a car that had been reserved for District 10. As they sped through the Capitol, Cressida was relieved to be back home, and Bunyan seemed to be looking forward to having fun when not tied up with the Hunger Games. To her surprise, neither of the teens seemed fascinated by the size and luxury of the city.

At the Prep Center, Cressida and Bunyan turned their charges over to their prep teams and stylists. Before setting out to the Training Center, where they would meet up with the tributes after the parade, they stopped in the lobby to look at pictures of this year's Tributes. The girls' pictures were on the right-hand wall and the boys' on the left.

"Humph," said Bunyan drily. "Looks like District 1 wins the beauty contest. But maybe she's just a pretty face."

Cressida looked at Miss District 1 and swore. "No. She's NOT just a pretty face. She's formidable."

"You know her?"

"Look at her name."

"Cashmere Golding. Wait, last year's winner was named Gloss Golding, and HE was from District 1 – "

"That's his sister. They interviewed her last year when it looked like Gloss was going to win the Games, and I saw the tape while working on the documentary. She makes a good impression, and reading between the lines, I suspect she's from that secret training Academy nobody is supposed to know about. Plus Gloss probably gave her pointers himself." She skipped mentioning the lurid rumor that Cashmere might have actually slept with her brother at least once. That might be mere slander, the sort of thing the Capitol fans deplored and ate up.

"I don't think there has ever been two siblings in the Games before. The odds of the Lottery turning up that way are ridiculous."

"In District 1 they volunteer."

"Right. Still, the PR people are going to eat it up, and we still don't have a decent spin for our people—"

"Pardon me, are you the escort for District 10?" asked a young man, suddenly walking up. "We've got problems. The girl won't undress."

Cressida followed him to the prep area and through the curtains marked with a 10. In spite of the man's complaints, Cressida was standing nearly naked, except for a rather large brassiere. She looked embarrassed and angry. "I've been measured for blouses and jeans before, and they've never had to look at my breasts to see how to fit them! Shaving my hair down there was humiliating enough!"

An older woman, presumably the stylist started to talk about the Capitol's superior technology and how it could measure body shape. Cressida waved her quiet.

"You get out," Cressida ordered the stupid young man, "OK, Andromeda, we're all women now, and we've got breasts of our own. Could you show us?"

"Not like mine," mumbled Andromeda, undoing the brassiere.

"Ulp," said Cressida.

"What happened?" asked the stylist.

"Got thrown against a post falling off a horse several years ago. Tore a big gash in my right breast, as you can see, and my ribs were worse off. Naturally I hate for people to see it. Satisfied?"

"Um," said the stylist. "All right, we can work around the scar. Definitely no low necklines. If you win the Games, you can probably get a plastic surgeon to fix it."

"Not bloody likely." The British expression had been picked up in North America over the centuries and was now common in Panem. "I'm going to DIE, and I can't even keep my dignity before I die!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Cressida and Bunyan watched the parade from a window in the Training Center, with the other mentors and escorts. When the District 10 chariot came up, with Sam and Andromeda in glorified cowboy costumes, Cressida noted that the stylist had done a good job of dressing her. But to be frank, Cashmere was already the star of the parade, having been in the leading District 1 chariot. None of the followers could catch up with her literally or figuratively.

The pair went down to the courtyard afterward and made their way through the horses and chariots. Sam was standing by his chariot in his cowboy outfit.

"But where's Andromeda?" asked Cressida.

"Ran off." Sam sat curtly.

"WHAT? Why didn't you stop her?" demanded Bunyan.

"Why should I? If she manages to get away, more power to her. If they catch and kill her, at least that's one less person I have to fight in the Games."

Bunyan and Cressida stared at each other. "At least she can't go far," Cressida said hopefully. "She's too noticeable in that outfit.

"Nope," said Sam. "She got a cloak from a Capitol fangirl, giving her the fancy cowboy hat in return. The girl wanted a souvenir from the parade." He seemed to be enjoying himself. He may not have liked Andromeda that much, but he certainly sympathized with her running off and making fools of the Capitol security.

"Go up to the suite on the 10th floor," ordered Bunyan. "Don't tell anybody that she's disappeared."

"OK. Will they be serving a fancy dinner?"

"Yes!"

"Good. I can eat a lot in peace for a change." He went off toward the elevators.

"What'll we do?" said Cressida, getting panicky. They were supposedly in charge of the girl, and would be punished severely if she got away.

"Use logic," said Bunyan. "She's in utterly unknown territory, from her point of view. She's only seen two places in the flesh – the railway station, and the Prep Center. The station's too far away, but the Prep Center will have something she would consider very valuable – horses. Not all of them are used in the parade. Let's look for her there"

0-0-0-0

A half-an-hour later they were in the stables for the show horses at the Prep Center. Being from District 10 the livestock district, and a Victor, Bunyan was able to get them in, pretending that he wanted to admire the facilities and show them to Cressida. It sounded lame to Cressida – they didn't look luxurious by Capitol standards, and the smell of manure was making her feel sick, but the excuse worked.

Cressida was feeling like dead weight; Bunyan was doing all the sleuthing. Most of the stalls were empty because the parade horses had not been brought back; those that did hold horses obviously did not hold girls. Finally they found a stall which seemed to be devoted to storing bales of hay. But Bunyan saw something suspicious, and within seconds he pulled Andromeda from behind the stack. He threw her against the side of the stall and slapped her soundly on her bottom.

"Ow!" the girl cried.

"Hey!" Cressida protested.

"You think that hurts?" Now that they had found the girl, he was free to be angry, very angry. "The punishment for a tribute running away is two dozen lashes. If that happens, you're going to start the games in pain and with considerable blood loss, and you're not going to last very long. What were you thinking?"

"I thought I could escape on a horse!"

"Wouldn't have worked. These horses are muttations; they're bred to memorize and follow certain paths, not obey the commands of riders. And even if you got the horse under control, this isn't your hometown in District 10; a girl riding a horse down a street of the Capitol is going to attract attention. The only way to save you from a flogging now is to somehow smuggle you back into the Training center, one of the most tightly guarded buildings in the Center."

Finally Cressida had a bright idea. "You can pass her off as me."

"What?"

"I'm a substitute for the usual escort, so the guards in the Training Center don't know me. They've seen me exactly once, during all the hurly-burly surrounding the parade. Here's my ID. It doesn't have my picture, so Andromeda can use it."

Bunyan looked at the girl clinically. "She's got that silly Capitol hairdo that the stylist gave her, and she can put that Capitol-made cloak back on, so she can pass as a native. Maybe too young to look like an escort, but a lot of Capitol women do try to look much younger than their age. We can give it a try. How do I get your ID back to you?"

"Meet me in the restaurant across from the Training Center, say 21:00 tonight."

"And where will you be in the meantime?"

"There's somebody I need to talk to."

The original escort for District 10

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Philosophies of the Games

**Chapter 6 Philosophies of the Games.**

Cressida rang at the apartment door, and made sure the security camera could see her.

"What do you want?" demanded the voice over the intercom. "To gloat over getting my job? But I suppose not; it's a step down for you."

"I need your – expertise," said Cressida.

Hermia laughed, not very pleasantly. "First time somebody's asked me for that, and probably the last. OK, I'll let you in."

Cressida entered to find the apartment in disarray, numerous objects boxed up. Hermia was apparently moving out.

"I'd offer you something to eat," said the former District 10 escort, "but I've sold off all of my luxury stuff. I'm going to need the money, now that I've lost my job. Water?"

"Thank you."

"So what do you need to know?"

"What to do. My girl tribute keeps saying that she's going to die."

"Then she probably will. It's pretty much a self-fulfilling prophecy, once they get in that mood. Why get upset? Preparing them for the games is mainly the mentor's job."

Cressida didn't want to admit that Andromeda's attempt at running away had probably alienated Bunyan permanently. "She deserves to live a normal life."

Another unpleasant laugh. "She deserves to? What about the thousand other tributes who have been slaughtered in the past 64 years?" Hermia suddenly sobered. "But you care. Good for you. I'll try to help. Did this girl have a job?"

"Cowgirl."

"Can she rope cattle?"

"Bunyan asked the same thing. Yes."

"OK. See Caesar Flickerman. He acts like a clown, but for him it's a matter of honor to present each tribute the best he can. Ask him to play up the parallels between subduing animals and fighting other tributes. Tell the girl to learn as many other skills as she can. When it's time to audition for the judges, tell her to demonstrate catching objects with the lariat – moving ones, if possible."

"Thank you. That's very clever of you, Hermia."

She meant as flattery, but it seemed to cause a huge mood swing. "Clever, great. Do you know the main job requirement for being a District escort? Stupidity. You just need enough brains to chant 'Happy Hunger Games! And may the Odds be Ever in Your Favor!' And pick papers out of a jar."

She started pacing. "I was stupid for years, until I finally started noticing things. Then I started taking morphling to dull my thoughts. I'm not alone. I'm sure some of the other escorts do it. Definitely some of the mentors rely on drugs. Two of the District 6 victors are addicts; they're in terrible shape. District 12's only victor is a drunkard. I should have known that, sooner or later, I'd take too much and crash."

Cressida was startled at what she was hearing; she had never before heard a Capitol denizen speak so cynically. "Um, right. Well, I have to be going. Thank you for your advice."

"Wait! There's something else I think you should know, even if you won't have the nerve to put in your documentary. The Games were never supposed to last this long."

Cressida stopped, unable to resist the narrative hook. "What?!"

"A friend of mine told me that the Games were supposed to stop after about half a dozen years after the Rebellion, now that the Districts had learned their lesson."

"But they didn't stop."

"No – there was too much money involved. Millionnaires betting on their favorite tributes were willing to pay huge prices to send the tributes gifts that would help them win, because they would make even more money on their wagers. Enough to pay for the games and earn somebody a nice profit. Specialists from architects to biologists were making money off the construction of arenas and the breeding of new mutts. Lots of other profiteers, official or off the record. So Somebody ordered the Games to continue, "

"Who told you this?"

"I promised not to say. They'd get in big trouble if the word got out and their name was attached."

That was real bizarre. The Hunger Games had been part of Panem culture since before Cressida was born. It couldn't just be somebody's get-rich-quick scheme.

But as she walked out, it occurred to her that if the Hunger Games did not exist, Andromeda could look forward to living for years.

0-0-0-0

As pre-arranged, she met Bunyan in a restaurant near the Training Center. He handed over her ID. "It worked; they thought Andromeda was you and let her in with no fuss. But when you come in tomorrow, better wear something extravagant, in case the same person is on watch and wonders why you look different."

"I'll remember. So what happened after you two were safely in? "

"Andromeda promised not to try another escape. She knows whips - bullwhips and horsewhips in her profession, and she's seen public floggings of criminals – and she's terrified of being beaten with one herself."

"Did you have to humiliate her by spanking her butt as well?" Cressida asked with annoyance.

To her surprise, the word seemed to galvanize Bunyan. "Humiliate? Cressida, just being in the Games is the ultimate humiliation! Your life and health are worth literally nothing in the eyes of the law. Somebody can hurt or kill you with impunity. You have no expectation of privacy. Do you Gamesmakers have footage of tributes relieving themselves, or having sex, or just plain bare-assed? Even though you don't release it to the public?"

"Er – yes. I mean, the cameras pick up everything; we have to edit it to take out the dull moments. And the raunchy ones."

"But the 'cut' footage circulates as porn." He didn't even phrase it as a question.

"Er, yes."

"To the Gamesmakers, the tributes are nobodies. Well, when I was a tribute, I knew I was not a Nobody. I was a Somebody, and I was going to prove it, by winning. And I did. I'm not going to apologize for slapping Andromeda's ass. If it taught her that she's vulnerable, and has to defend herself because nobody else will do it for her, it will have done her a favor. I think there have been cases of tributes who seemed doomed at first, but finally got pushed once too often and pushed back, until they won. Johanna Mason, for example."

"Johanna? She always said that it was planned all along – pretend to be meek and helpless at first, then catch her enemies off guard."

"That's what she SAYS. But I think the reality is more complex. I think she was at first genuinely fatalistic about losing the games. But then she found herself in the worst experience of her life, naked and in danger of rape. She fought back, and as a result she not only killed the potential rapist, but gained possession of his knapsack with a lot of goodies. And she saw a path to victory. Of course afterward she claimed that she had planned it all. That sounded better than admitting she had blundered into it."

"Do you have proof of that?"

"No. Just my instincts as a fellow victor. The games are dicey enough without 'planning' to confront an enemy stark naked – even though they say Johanna enjoys appearing nude in public sometimes. I wouldn't try publishing my speculations if I were you. Let her keep her dignity - and besides, she may be tempted to cut off both of our heads."

It was the second time tonight that she had heard weird speculations – nothing she could use in her work, but definitely signs that things happened behind the façade of the games, and that the Official Version of events was just that, an official version. And what other stories were there, which she hadn't heard yet?

But she reined in her curiosity. She had a particular agenda at the moment: help Andromeda. "So you think Andromeda has a chance of winning if she puts her mind to it?"

Bunyan shrugged. "A chance. It's impossible to compute all of the variables; that's why the blessing is 'may the odds be ever in your favor'. What do you think of Cashmere's chances, for example?"

Cressida sighed. "Pretty high, I'm afraid. Same nature and nurture as her brother. He may have given her personal training and pointers of his own. From the sponsors' point of view, there's name recognition, and she LOOKS dazzling. She's obviously the front runner. Maybe it's too obvious."

"Why too obvious?"

"Think of it from the point of view of a potential sponsor. If one particular tribute is a shoo-in to win, why waste money sending her gifts? Just keep your money – particularly if everybody else is betting on the same girl and the gambling winnings are going to be spread among a lot of people, so you're not going to make a killling."

"But that means other tributes are even less likely to get sponsorships," observed Bunyan. "Unless somebody bucks the odds and decides to bet on a long shot."

"Sounds like we have our work cut for us."

0-0-0-0

The next morning, Cressida tried to call some friends at her office. To her surprise, the call was transferred to Plutarch.

"Sorry to run interference, Cressie," he said. "But news about the nature of this year's arena has reached us, and you have to stay out of the loop."

Cressida was suddenly tempted to fish for that particular information, to give poor Andromeda some advantage, knowing what environment to train for. But that was too risky. If it was discovered that the information had been leaked to a tribute, there would be a tremendous scandal. Snow might even order a few executions. Besides, Plutarch was shrewd enough to block any fishing. But the fact that Cressida had thought of it made her realize how emotionally bound up she was getting in these Games.

"OK, I'll stay aloof," she said reluctantly.

"Good. By the way, I do have one piece of information that I can give you. About Hermia, the escort whom you're replacing."

Cressida got nervous. Had somebody found out about last night's visit? "What is it?"

"She was found dead this morning. Morphling overdose."

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Training and Straining

**Chapter 7 Training and Straining**

Cressida didn't want to dwell on Hermia's death. After all she had only met her for a few hours, during which she had been convinced that Hermia was crazy. Besides, one didn't dwell on death in the Capitol.

The problem was that she suddenly had a lot of time available in which to do nothing but think. This was the start of 3 days training. You met your tributes for breakfast and evening meal, but otherwise you were supposed to leave them alone. Bunyan said he had "plans for those days" that he didn't specify. Cressida suspected that the plans involved consorting with the sort of women who thought it was cool to sleep with Hunger Games victors, and definitely didn't want to get involved. On the other hand, she wasn't supposed to contact her friends in Plutarch's office because of conflict-of-interest rules.

Perhaps, after today, she would learn how Andromeda had fared in training, and that might give her ideas for strategy to help the girl win. But it was too early to do that now.

She finally decided simply to go for a walk, and wait for inspiration to strike. After all, this was the Capitol, the most exciting city of the known world.

As she was leaving the Training Center, she heard a voice call out. "You're Hermia's substitute, aren't you?"

Cressida turned around and started. She was looking at a woman with flaming red hair and skin dyed to match, and wearing a fur coat even though it was summertime, Hunger Games season. In any other culture she would have told herself the woman was crazy. In the Capitol, Cressida thought that the woman was making a bizarre fashion statement.

"Hermia's - " Cressida hesitated, wondering if that was supposed to be secret.

"Dead, I know. I knew she was doomed when she didn't deliver her tributes. SHE didn't like it."

"Who is SHE?"

"Lilith."

"Who's Lilith?"

"Lilith was cursed with childlessness. So she gets them other ways, by offering immense power to people who can deliver children's souls to her."

Cressida had studied various myths and legends, hoping to find ideas for interesting arenas. "Lilith" was starting to sound vague familiar to her. A she-demon, associated with some versions of the Garden-of-Eden story – but too weird to use in the Hunger Games. Besides, they had already used the Garden of Eden, in the Second Quarter Quell.

Her instinct was to avoid this woman who babbled about Lilith. But Cressida had another instinct, to always be on the watch for a good story. And so she tacitly withdrew with the woman into the shadows of the ally next to the Training Center. It put them out of sight and hearing of anybody else, but Cressida could still run out if things get awkward.

"What people?" she asked.

"The big deal gets offered to the Presidents. Snow and his predecessors. She offers them absolute power over the known world. In return, they will give her two dozen souls each year, less one."

"You're talking about the Hunger Games!"

"Of course. Two dozen go in, one comes out. The rest are his sacrifices to Lilith. Of course Snow can't SAY that that's what he's doing. He claims to have abolished gods and demons from the world."

"What does this have to do with Hermia?"

"There are other deals. Nobodies like Hermia, they can get some power by bringing two victims into the game. The reapings. But Hermia failed this year, and so she was doomed."

"I've brought two tributes in. But I never made a deal with a devil."

"No, you're just a substitute. That's why I've come to warn you. Don't get involved again, or you'll be involved forever."

"Just who are you, and why do you know all this?"

"My name doesn't matter. Call me Tigris. I was an escort once, but I switched jobs and became a stylist. I escaped Lilith, but not entirely. She cursed me, said I'd lose my wits."

To Cressida it was clear that the reverse was true – Tigris had lost her wits, and come up with the supernatural scenario in her addled brain. But it looked like it would be dangerous to challenge her delusion directly. Cressida started backing out of the ally.

"Well, I'll take your advice. I'm not going to volunteer as escort again; I'm going back to work for Communications. Thank you." She started to turn around.

"Wait! I have a prophecy."

Probably would be safe to humor the woman a few more seconds. "What is it?"

"As long as he gives Lilith her 23 souls a year, Snow will flourish. But a time will come when one victim will escape, and Lilith will only get 22. And she will smite Snow, and bring about his downfall."

Talking about Snow's potential downfall was far more frightening than anything else Cressida had heard in the past few days. If Snow knew Cressida was thinking about it, Cressida could be executed. She turned and ran. She waved her ID at the guard, who let her back into the Training Center. It would be impossible for Tigris to follow her in, and she would be safe.

Tigris' story was as crazy as Hermia's, Cressida told herself. Maybe escorts had a particular tendency to go insane eventually. But one thought nagged at her. 

A few days ago, she had told Andromeda about her mythological namesake, who was nearly sacrificed because her parents had offended somebody in power. Andromeda had made the connection with her current situation, interpreting her participation in the Hunger Games as a similar sacrifice. And Cressida did not want to regard Andromeda as crazy.

She tried to put it out of her mind and concentrate on protegee's survival.

0-0-0-0

During the next few days she and Bunyan tried to monitor Sam's and Andromeda's training. Bunyan seemed to have a source of information inside the Training system, but refused to identify the informant to Cressida, saying that he did not want her to use it when she was back on her usual job. The source said that the girl was trying to do her best to pick up various types of training, but Sam was concentrating on fighting, and was proud that one of the Careers (though not Cashmere) was interested in allying. Bunyan tried to persuade the boy that camouflage and food collecting were important, but he dismissed them as "sissy stuff".

Meanwhile Cressida tried to seek advice from Caesar Flickermann. The interviewer prided himself on presenting each tribute in the best possible light, and was willing to cooperate with their escorts and mentors to learn about positive traits to highlight. Between them, they came up with a dramatic idea.

Most of the interviews that year were unusually dull. Cashmere, of course, played up the notion that shared her brother's fighting skills, with the subtext "if you liked him last year, you'll love me!" Nearly every other tribute seemed fatalistic about losing to Cashmere, probably reflecting the despair of their own mentors. Sam's "look at me, I'm strong!" fell flat. By the time Andromeda came onstage, the audience was almost unprecedentedly bored.

Caesar, however, had tried to appear chipper about every tribute, and he still kept up the act with Andromeda. "So, Andromeda, do you think you're prepared for the games?"

She and Cressida had rehearsed the response. "Oh, yes, Caesar, I've been in games before."

It sounded over-rehearsed to Cressida, but the audience was too startled to react that way. "Really?" said Caesar, feigning surprise.

"Oh, yes, they're called rodeos. Not just barrel racing, but bronco busting and cattle roping."

Cressida groaned. Andromeda was losing her audience, who had no notion of what barrel racing or broncos were, though they were everyday terms to the girl. Cressida gestured toward her waist, and Andromeda spotted that. "Should I demonstrate?"

"Please do," said Caesar, desperately trying to keep up the momentum.

Andromeda got to her feet. Cressida and her stylist had carefully disguised Andromeda's lariat as the belt of her evening dress, allowing her to bring it on stage, She gave it a tug and it came loose. She twirled it several times, then cast it in Caesar's direction. It went over his head and encircled Caesar's body.

Caesar had been forewarned, and had been careful to stand in the proper position. But the crowd went wild over the stunt. Even Cashmere had done nothing so dramatic. As the crowd whooped, Cressida smiled. Her instincts developed over the years had paid off. Show, don't tell. Now her friend had a chance to get sponsors, and possible victory in the Games.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	8. Let the Games Begin

**Chapter 8 Let the Games Begin**

Bunyan immediately went into action after Andromeda's roping stunt, calculating that he would be able to pick up sponsors impressed by the act. He didn't even wait to see the interviews for 11 and 12; it was already clear that those tributes were losers. Time was limited, because the games would start at noon the next day. Fortunately hardly anybody slept the night before the games, except the tributes themselves. It was a night of partying, and Bunyan hoped to flit from party to party picking up pledges.

"But I've checked the odds, and they still seem to be mostly in Cashmere's favor." Cressida pointed out.

"Yes, but that is an advantage if you spin it right. Sponsors aren't just throwing out money; they invest the money because they have bet on a tribute and one to make sure that he or she wins. Collecting the bet will pay for the cost of sponsorship. Now, there isn't much return for betting on Cashmere. If she wins, the proceeds have to spread out over a lot of bettors. But betting on Andromeda is a long shot, paying five to one or better. So if you're confident that Andromeda will win with your help, you're willing to risk a lot of money as a sponsor."

"I've never thought through the money angle. Hunger Games functionaries aren't allowed to bet; it would be a conflict of interest. Can I watch you negotiate?"

"Sorry, no. Sponsors and gamblers are secretive; they have "A System" and they don't want others to figure it out. I have to deal one-on-one. Besides, you're involved with publicity; that's the last thing they want, somebody who might repeat their secrets."

Cressida thought of insisting that she was trustworthy, then decided not to bother. Bunyan might believe her, but the potential sponsors might not. If her presence might drive away sponsors who could help Andromeda, she might as well be absent.

Cressida was used to partying on the eve of the Hunger Games, but she would have to find a party. She couldn't accompany Bunyan. Nor could she meet with the friends from her office. Until the Hunger Games started tomorrow and the secret of the arena was out, she had to keep her distance.

Halfway between the Training Center and her own apartment, she heard sounds of a loud party from a nearby apartment house, and decided to crash it. That would be a dreadful faux pas on most occasions, but this was the eve of the Hunger Games, when wild behavior was expected. Besides, if the party was large enough, everybody would assume that she had come with somebody else.

For a few minutes she abandoned herself to sense impressions – the garish colours of the clothing, the frenzied music, the scents of all the food available. But eventually she started feeling like an outsider, alienated from the goings-on. Socially alienated, because she knew nobody here. But also emotionally alienated, because she simply could not share the wild pleasure that everybody was experiencing. She was too worried about Andromeda to enjoy herself.

After about half an hour, she walked out again, proceeded the rest of the way home, and threw herself into bed.

0-0-0-0

The next morning, the Capitol was eerily quiet. Everybody was sleeping off their self-indulgences from the previous night – parties, or maybe sexual encounters. The loudest sounds were the hovercrafts buzzing overhead, preparing to take the tributes to the arena. Cressida would not be going there. Traditionally the escorts and mentors were banned from the arena, lest they perform some sort of sabotage on behalf of their tributes. The tributes were escorted by lower-level functionaries, such as their stylists. Remembering that Andromeda had had an argument with her own stylist, she had asked Sam's stylist to switch places.

Bunyan and Cressida settled down in the rooms for District 10 in the Training Center to watch TV. The familiar rituals ensued. Some reruns of the best interviews with Caesar, some speculation from Claudius Templesmith on how the games might go. About five minutes before noon, they started moving the tributes up their tubes. A micro-camera was attached to one of the tributes' tokens, so that the audience would be able to get their first view of the arena, from the tributes' own point of view.

But something was odd this time. The elevators kept going up and up.

"What's happening?" asked Bunyan. "They should have reached the surface long ago." The mystery was getting on even his nerves.

"Dunno," muttered Cressida.

Finally the camera cleared the ground, and they had their first sight of the arena, and the solution of the mystery. The Cornucopia and the surrounding platforms were on a mountaintop. The immediate area was flat, probably artificially so, but one could see a drop-off in the distance, and kilometers of land beyond and below. The elevators had taken time because they had traversed much of the height of the mountain.

Bunyan swore. "Sam and Andie are used to flatlands. They'll be disoriented in a landscape like that. The very arena is rigged against them."

"Which tributes would be used to mountains?" Cressida asked.

"Districts 2 and 12. Though 12 never seems to reap the benefit of anything. They have one mentor and he seems to be a hopeless alcoholic. At least it's not blatantly rigged to favor Cashmere."

"Plutarch has told me it takes several years to design an arena. They wouldn't have known about Gloss and Cashmere when they started.

Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed out. He was an acquaintance of Cressida's, but at moment she loathed his complacent voice. "LET THE 63rd HUNGER GAMES BEGIN, AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-"

The starting pistol went off, and the tributes stormed into action.

Bunyan swore again. "There's Sam dashing to the Cornucopia. He'll get caught in the melee. I warned him against that! Where's Andie?"

"I see her. Hiding behind a large rock, watching for whether it's better to charge the Cornucopia or flee."

Sam grabbed a large knapsack and started to flee. Two other tributes caught with him and knived him. He went down, but instead of grabbing the knapsack, the two attackers started slashing at each other, fighting over the trophy.

Then something utterly unexpected. The bleeding Sam struggled to his feet, did a powerful wind-up, and hurled the knapsack toward Andromeda. Then he collapsed on the ground and stopped moving. He had used the last of his strength to help his district partner.

Andromeda looked stunned, but she picked up the sack, made an odd salute in Sam's direction, and then ran off.

To the Gamesmakers managing the cameras, that was just a minor incident, They kept the cameras on the bloody melee. That was what Cressida would expect them to do, but she hated the choice anyway, because she could not see what was happening to Andromeda.

The 63rd Hunger Games had begun.

(NOTE: My original version of this chapter said Cashmere was from District 2, and a reviewer caught the error. I have fixed it)

TO BE CONTINUED


	9. First and Last Days

**Chapter 9 First and Last Days**

Cressida had learnt in past years of covering the Games that there was a certain rhythm to the ritual. After the violent melee at the Cornucopia, there was a protracted period during which each of the surviving tributes scattered, tried to learn how the arena worked, sought some safe refuge where they could relax at night without being murdered in their sleep, and examined their supplies. Even the Career Alliance, if it was smart, tried to take stock of the situation rather than hunt down their prey immediately.

Many of the Capitol viewers got bored at that point and tuned out, coming back when the violence started again. Cressida's broadcasters made the best of it by zigzagging between various tributes, and Claudius Templesmith talked himself blue in the face with speculations of how the Games would go.

Bunyan, who had been up all night trying to shmoose with sponsors, took the opportunity to take a nap, telling Cressida to "please wake me up if something happens." But Cressida was glued to the TV images, trying to find out what was happening to Andromeda.

She was rewarded about an hour and a half later, when they gave the girl a close-up. She had found a cave somewhere downslope from the Cornucopia and taken refuge there. (The cave was an ambivalent gift: it got her out of direct view of people on the slopes, but was an obvious place to search. Cressida wondered if the Gamesmasters had put it there on purpose.) She was going through the pack that Sam had thrown her, using sunlight from the entrance. The big prize was a coil of rope, and in fact she immediately started converting it to a lasso. Lumps of bread and meat. A crude knife. Matches but nothing handy to burn; there was no vegetation around. A bottle but no water in it. That would have been too easy. The Gamesmasters wanted her to have to look for water and expose herself to view.

She didn't look for water immediately, though. Instead she retreated further into the cave where sunlight didn't reach, exploring it by feel and by feeble light from a series of matches. The Gamesmasters had to throw the scene into life-enhancing mode to keep the girl visible. Cressida was confused at first, then realized that Andromeda was following a clever strategy. If some tribute later invaded her cave, Andromeda could withdraw into the dark section, where she would know her way around and the attacker would be effectively blind. Claudius, still trying to narrate, couldn't figure it out and wondered if she was looking for something. Cressida hadn't realized before what an idiot Claudius was. Eventually Andromeda lay down, apparently deciding to conserve her strength. The Gamesmakers lost interest and switched their focus somewhere else. At least Andromeda was safe.

She came back onscreen a few hours later. The camera was focusing on a mountain brook. A girl – Claudius identified her as District 5 – was kneeling at the brook, filling a bottle with water. Crouched behind a large rock, quite visible to the cameras but apparently unseen by the girl, was Andromeda. Claudius pointed out that Andromeda had a perfect opportunity to rush forward and stab the girl in the back with her knife, without even needing her famous lasso.

Except that she didn't. The girl finished filling her bottle with water and started walking upslope again. Andromeda stayed hidden until the other was out of view, then walked to the brook and started filling her own bottle.

Claudius was horribly disappointed, and so, presumably, were Capitol fans who had hoped for some blood. To Cressida it seemed clear that Andromeda had not wanted a fight.

That night was particularly dull. Claudius speculated ( or somebody more intelligent speculated to him) that few tributes wanted to negotiate mountain trails at night, less they stumble in the dark, falling downhill or even over a cliff. The exceptions, just as Bunyan and Cressida expected, were Districts 2 and 12, whose tributes were used to mountainous terrain. The tributes from 12 went down to the brook for some water – lapping it up because they had obtained nothing, not even a container, at the Cornucopia. On the way back to their hiding place they ran into the Careers from 2, who killed them.

Bunyan, who was watching with Cressida at the time, grunted. "So much for 12. Heymitch will be drunk for the rest of the Games – assuming he hasn't been drunk already."

For the next day the TV did not cover Andromeda at all. Apparently, having food and drink and a good hiding place, she had decided to lay low. Her only difficulty would be relieving herself without the benefit of a decent toilet. Presumably she found a corner of the cave where she could do her business. By tradition the TV gave her privacy for that.

On the third day, however, she left the cave again. Probably she had drunk all of her water, because she started toward the brook again. Apparently the Gamesmakers expected something to happen, because the TV was focused on her again.

Bunyan and Cressida could see why. A few meters ahead of her another tribute was hiding; it was the reverse of the situation at the brook. But Andromeda stopped a few meters away. "You might as well come out; I can hear you breathing."

He came out sulkily. Cressida was relieved to see that he had no weapons, while Andromeda had a knife – except she didn't, it was in her knapsack on her back. "You're the girl from District 10, aren't you. Must be , because you stink like a horse. Like horse-s***."

"That's a stupid insult," Andromeda said. "We all stink, after two days and no way to bathe. Look, that's no reason for us to fight. Just let me by."

Bunyan groaned. The tribute had a different reaction to the peaceful offer. "Coward," he snarled and he attacked her.

They grappled for a minute or two, with Claudius providing exciting commentary. Then Andromeda managed to punch her enemy in the solar plexus. He went down gasping for breath., and Andromeda got her knife from the pack.

"Finish him off!" Bunyan called.

She didn't. Instead she continued downhill at a brisk pace, apparently assuming that she could outrun him. But the tribute struggled to his feet, and started after her while still gasping for breath. Catching her with her from behind, he threw his arms around her.

His intent may have been to pin her arms so she couldn't use the knife, and indeed she dropped the weapon. But in the process his arms pressed against her breasts, and that seemed to galvanize Andromeda. Maybe he hurt the scarred area, or maybe she interpreted touching the forbidden area as a sexual attack. She struggled loose and they grappled again. Then , during a moment's separation, she picked a rock off of the path, and brought it down on his skull. Blood spurted out and he fell prone. The cannon BOOMed to confirm his death.

"She did it!" Bunyan cried. "She's finally learned that she has to kill or be killed. If she fights that well with others – "

But Andromeda's own reaction to the victory was quite different. She stared at the body for almost a minute, her back to the camera. When she turned around, there were tears on her face. She walked to the cliffside, staring downward. The camera helpfully switched its angle and showed the view over the cliff: a drop of several dozen meters, ending in sharp rocks.

"What is she DOING?" Bunyan demanded, but Cressida thought she knew. Andromeda was suffering agonies of guilt over killing somebody.

The girl stared over the cliff for a time, then finally she seemed to come to a resolution. Closing her eyes, she jumped over the precipice.

BOOM! went the cannon, marking another death.

Cressida screamed and fainted.

(TO BE CONINUED)


	10. Meditations

**Chapter 10 Meditation**

When Cressida revived, she was lying in one of the beds. Bunyan, who had presumably carried her there, was standing a few meters away, looking awkward. She muttered "Wha' happened—"

"You fainted," said Bunyan. "When Andromeda jumped over the cliff."

"Is there a possibility that she's still alive?"

"I'm sorry, but no. The tracker stopped picking up her heartbeat, and that's when they fired the cannon. And when the hovercraft went to pick up the body, they said it was obvious that her neck was broken. At least it was a fast, nearly painless death."

Cressida started crying. "This is so horrible. It's as if she was my daughter."

For some reason, that statement enraged Bunyan. "She was not your daughter, Cressida. If she was, she would be a Capitol girl, dressing in useless finery and maybe having fun watching people die in the Games."

"I – "

"No, I know where you're coming from. You got to know her as a human being, an innocent and likable human being. Sam was just as human and innocent, but not likable, so you didn't care when he died. They started with 22 other kids out there, all of them human and mostly innocent. All but one is going to die, and you don't care because they didn't get under your skin."

"I –"

She was interrupted again, this time by the room's telephone. Bunyan went to answer it, while Cressida wrestled with confused emotions. When the mentor came back, he was even more annoyed. "That was Caesar's show. They want me to appear and express what I feel about having lost both my tributes. And of course I'm not allowed to say 'Two more lives snuffed out for no reason; are you satisfied?' " With that outburst, he seemed to get himself under control. "After that, the Gamesmasters will want to collect the tributes' effects, to ship back to the District 10 with their remains. Could you gather them while I gone? There won't be much, just the clothes they were wearing when they were reaped. After that we'll basically be expected to vacate these quarters until next year's Games, so get your own things out as well. I'm going."

After his departure Cressida got up to check Andromeda's and Sam's rooms. It occurred to her that, after a day or two, there would be nothing left in the Capitol to indicate that Andromeda had even existed there. District 10 might have some sort of memorial to her, but Cressida would not be allowed to travel there. Cressida would have no souvenir of her, except in her head.

Well, that was not entirely true. There was electronic footage of her, in the parade and in the interviews with Caesar. One could not program a Capitol TV to play back a scene at will, but Cressida worked for the Capitol media. She decided to call a friendly colleague to send a recording of the interviews over to the TV in her own flat, pretending that she wanted to make professional notes on them before reporting to work again. She could see Andromeda that way.

She was about to leave when there was a buzz at the door. Answering it, she found herself facing a woman who would have looked sour even if her skin had not been dyed yellow-green. "Is the rep from District 10 here?" she demanded.

"No, he's at the TV studio."

"Well, I have a message for him. I'm a sponsor, and I had a lot of money riding on the District 10 girl. Now, I understand if my tribute gets killed by another tribute, it's just bad luck, the odds are not in my favor. But doing herself in is another matter. I wasn't warned that that was possible, and I want my money back."

Cressida was horrified. The girl had lost her life, Cressida had lost a loved one, and here was this lady whining about money that she could afford to lose. Fortunately Cressida was used to concealing her emotions; she had had occasions where she had to appear on camera. "Well, I'll tell him if I see him."

"IF?"

She had used the word offhand, but she couldn't resist throwing a scare into the bitch. "Well, he might just decide to go back to District 10 after leaving the studio. Nothing keeping him here." The woman turned a paler shade of green as she realized the implications. The Capitol minimized contact between itself and the Districts, except for the shipment of goods. It would be almost impossible for the woman to force Bunyan to disgorge the money once he was back in District 10's Victor's Village, unless he chose to do so. "Good luck catching him," Cressida added in a fake sweetly manner. "May the odds be ever in your favor." She closed the door in the woman's face, and muttered some choice words that she had learnt from Sam in the past few days.

An hour later she was in her own flat, installing the interviews recording on her TV. She realized that she would have a problem. Her home TV was not designed to fast-forward. Since the tributes were interviewed by District order and Andromeda was District 10, this meant that she had to sit through 18 earlier interviews. Later she would edit the tape at work, but at the moment she was anxious for a sight of Andromeda.

She had, of course, seen the interviews before, live, a few days ago. At that point she was regarding the other tributes as competitors, and was relieved to see that few of them, except Cashmere, impressed the audience much. But now, when she was not distracted by wishful thinking and was remembering Bunyan's dictum that other tributes were not that much different, she found herself re-interpreting them.

The boy from District 3 was boasting of his skill in inventing new electronic gizmos. That might have impressed people in District 3, but it fell flat in the Capitol. Caesar rescued the situation by remarking how Beetee has won his game by inventing nifty weapons.

The girl from District 5, who couldn't be much older than 13, was wearing a costume that exposed her breasts almost down to the nipples. Even by Capitol standards that was outrageous on a girl who had just started puberty, and Caesar couldn't spin it. Doubtlessly she, or a clueless stylist, thought that was the only way for her to make an impression.

The boy from District 8 had declared, frankly but naively, "I know I'm not going to win. Why can't everybody just agree that I'm a loser and let me go home?" The audience had thought that very funny, and so had Cressida originally. Now she realized that the question made a lot of sense. If the purpose of the games was to honor a victor who embodied the virtues of Panem, why not release a boy who admitted that he was no hero? And why should responses at a televised interview affect whether a tribute was to live or die? If she remembered the Death Lists properly, all three of these tributes were already dead.

Finally they got to District 10 and Andromeda. It was as impressive as Cressida had remembered it, but now it had a pathetic air. All that hope gone to nothing. Cressida started crying again, and turned off the recording without even trying to watch 11 and 12.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, lost in grief, before the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Cressie? This is Plutarch. Tried calling at the Training Center but apparently you'd already left. I wanted to know whether you could come back to work tomorrow, now that you no longer have duties to District 10."

I – " it was going to be impossible to just walk in to work as if nothing had happened . She would, of course, be expected to help with covering the rest of the Games, the deaths of the rest of the tributes but one. She couldn't do it. Everything about her job seemed different now. And yet she couldn't just pull out without an explanation. What could she say?

"Plutarch, could you stop by this evening for a talk?" She had a high-enough rank in the office to make a request like that. Though she wouldn't keep her rank after that.

"Hmm, yes. Nothing happens at night in this year's Games, I suspect all of the tributes are afraid of falling on a slope in the darkness. Is eight o'clock all right?"

"Yes."

So she had between now and eight o'clock to decide what to say to Plutarch. She couldn't just pretend to have a better job offer for her talents. The whole media business was a government monopoly, and the Hunger Games show was the most prestigious thing in it. Any step out would be a step down. Could she tell the truth? Plutarch was a friend as well as a boss, but he was an important figure of the government. Her conversation with Plutarch would be private – that was one of the reasons for asking him to visit her at her flat – but if he found her attitude frightening, he might feel obliged to tell somebody else. Snow, if he heard of it, would be displeased, and Snow's displeasure could be dangerous.

Then she remembered Andromeda's scale of values. She had killed herself because she had failed to live up to her resolution not to hurt anybody during the Games. Cressida, by contrast , was already feeling like a coward.

And so, as Plutarch walked in, Cressida poured out her feelings, knowing that if she stopped to think, she would be too terrified to start talking again.

"Plutarch, I can't do this any more. I've learnt what it's like to be a tribute, and I understand the horror of it all. I don't want to be a part of the horror. I'm leaving. Please, let me go."

Plutarch looked astonished, and then he composed his face into something unreadable. Cressida wondered how much trouble she had put herself in. When he finally spoke, his voice was amazingly calm. "I don't want you to leave, Cressie."

"But don't you understand? I can't serve the Games any longer. I hate the Games!"

"I quite understand, Cressie. You see, so do I."

TO BE CONTINUED


	11. Plutarch's Histories

**Chapter 11 Plutarch's Histories**

Cressida stared at Plutarch. "I don't understand. You're in charge of the media coverage of the Games!"

"Yes. To end the Games I need to be in power, and to get in power I need to support the Games. That sounds paradoxical, but that's the way things work in the Capitol."

Cressida wasn't in a mood to talk about paradox. She wanted to deal with this on the level of deep feelings. "What turned you against the Games? An experience like mine?"

"No, it was more theoretical. Thinking about what will happen when Snow dies."

Cressida gasped.

"No, I'm not talking about assassination. May I sit down? This will probably be a long discussion."

"All right. Can I pour you a drink?"

"Yes, and pour yourself one. It would probably help."

She got the glasses and alcohol out of her kitchen, and they settled down into comfortable chairs for a very unconventional conversation.

"You and I both have special permission to read pre-Panem records, ostensibly to look for ideas for the Hunger Games," Plutarch started. "You focus on mythology, I know. I look at history."

"One thing I noticed is that most advanced societies made some provision for the death of their leader, no matter how popular the leader was himself or herself. The backup went by different names – the Crown Prince, the Vice-President. In ancient Rome at its best, the emperor would search the Empire for the most talented person he could find, and groom him as his successor. What happened to societies that did not take that precaution? Well, when Julius Caesar was killed, there was a civil war with Octavian and Antony on one side and Brutus and Cassius on the other. Then another civil war between Octavian and Antony. Snow claims that he's keeping the peace in Panem. Actually, by not designating a successor, he's setting up a possible future war between future claimants. There are several possible heirs. The head of the Peacekeepers. The Chief Gamesmaster. And he has an illegitimate daughter that he's acknowledged, and I hear that she's expecting a baby."

"I haven't heard people discuss any of this."

"No, because it's dangerous talk. Snow discourages it. Not only that, he gives them a fake war to enjoy and occupy their minds. The Hunger Games. See the Boy from 8 die. See the Girl from 10 die. Who will win? And it doesn't matter, in the real world, who wins. Probably it will be Cashmere this year, and people will talk about how fascinating it is that a brother and sister and brother won back-to-back. So much more fascinating than who will be the ruler a few decades down the road. And when the people of the Capitol find out what a REAL war is like, they'll be utterly unprepared."

Plutarch took a drink. Maybe because he needed it, but it also punctuated a change of subject.

"There's another big difference between Panem and those realms of the past. Civilization never depended on a single nation before. Rome fell, but the Muslims preserved much of their knowledge, and so did monks in Europe. When China had civil wars, they at least had a powerful culture that could survive a given dynasty. But Panem is the only known civilizated state surviving in the world. If Panem falls, the whole world falls with it."

"What do you intend to do about it?"

"I don't know. In the past couple of years, I've been talking cautiously to like-minded people who are concerned about the future. We've formed a sort of organization. The general consensus is to try to strengthen the Districts. But that will be difficult to do under Snow's nose. It'll probably take years to get something done, and hopefully Snow survives in power that long. Another paradox, wanting a bad ruler to stay in power."

"Who are the people in your organization?"

"Sorry, Cressida, I can't tell you that yet. I've promised not to reveal their secrets without warning them. Just as I won't tell them about your loss of faith in the Games yet. As far as they're concerned you'll still be Cressida, Games Publicist." 

"Thank you." But it was weird, thinking of all her acquaintances and wondering which ones were closet rebels. Suddenly she thought of one possibility: Caesar Flickermann. He acted and dressed like a clown, but working with him for years made her realize how professional he was . Tried to bring how the best in each tribute, even the least promising. Handling 24 interviews in a row, looking alert and interested when talking to Twelve even though

he must be exhausted by then. He refused to commentate on the Games themselves, leaving that to Claudius Templesmith, on the plausible excuse that the interviews had tired him out. Maybe he simply didn't have the heart to watch the deaths of kids whom he spoken to just the day before the Games.

But Plutarch was right: don't blow Caesar's cover.

"Count me in, Plutarch. I want to help you save our civilization."

THE END


End file.
